- Hello.

A low male voice from behind my back seemed to creep into my mind, shattering into fragments two days ago. I cling to the parapet so that the knuckles whiten. The sea wind promising to grow into a storm dries up tears that I cannot stop.

That's why I come here for the second day in a row. Salt to salt, water to water. My tears to the sea spray. I want to drown the grief, that's just not good.

- Why are you crying?

A strange man. Well, the girl is crying, so pass by. What are you up to her tears? What do you even need the fact that her most dear person now lies in the cold earth and the worms gnaw at the once strong body? But I have to answer, mother always taught me to be polite.

- You're wrong. I'm not crying at all.

It fits the shadow, barely discernible in the gloom of the embankment. Only next to my hand a man goes down.

- I rarely make mistakes, sweet girl. And now I see that you feel very bad. I have time, and I am ready to listen to you.

Another gust of wind, and my hair almost rises above my head. The sea is buzzing louder; dark gray waves seem to be angry either at me or at my annoying companion. From a distance, from the lighthouse, we hear a dreary steamship whistle.

- Are you a psychologist?

To ask this question, I have to turn my head. And I immediately recall a lecture on the history of religions:

“The first reason is jasper; second, sapphire; the third is ruby; the fourth is smaragd ... "

It is his - the outdated name of the emerald - I remember when I see the eyes of the interlocutor in the reflections of the lantern.

And it seems to me that the gems from which the walls of Jerusalem were made scattered, and only the green emerald remained here. He settled in front of the eyes and I never saw more brightly than the light.

Maybe - imagination. Or the unnatural light of a mercury lamp plays such a strange color game. Or I just want this man to have those green eyes.

“I'm not a psychologist,” he says. - I am an architect. But really, in order to help a person, you have to be a psychologist?

And I still look at him. Why, there is simply indecent eyes. Brown hair, pulled into a ponytail; a thin face resembling a hawk. And of course, eyes. Two bright emeralds that look, without blinking, into my tear-stained face.

Cold fingers barely perceptible touch on my cheek.

- In your pupils settled death. Have you died?

- Father. A week ago.

- Sorry. This is a serious loss.

I want to shout: "I know." I have long wanted to scream, but under my mother I could not do this. They gave away a lot after the funeral, and almost everything fell on my shoulders. You had to be strong for your mother.

The man turns away to the sea. Looks intently at rolling waves. Now, in the descending darkness, oil spots in the gulf are not visible. Now the sea is beautiful.

“You know,” his voice continues, “Murakami once said: when you look at the sea for a long time, you start to miss people.” And when you look at people for a long time, you start to miss the sea. My advice to you is to look at people. Do you want me to take you home?

Without waiting for agreement, turns around and goes to the parked car. And only now I understand how I froze. The wet autumn wind got, it seems, to the very bones. He froze his mind and settled in his head with cold salty dew. But ... strange thing - there are almost no tears on the cheeks.

“My name is Olga,” I said in a black leather-covered jacket back.

And she did not even hope that she would hear, but the man suddenly turns:

- Funny. Because my name is Oleg.

***

When he first calls me by this strange name "Ole", I can not hold back the silly, almost childish, laughter. Nobody ever called me that.

- Why Ole?

“Because Lukoye,” Oleg responds. - It was my favorite fairy tale in childhood.

And then without any transition:

- Look ...

I peer in the direction of the outstretched arm; I put a palm with a peak to a forehead; I squint from the bright spring sun and see it: a jamb of geese returning from wintering grounds. And let the birds high. So high that it is almost impossible to discern, the spectacle is still fascinating.

“The most intelligent, large and strong male is flying ahead,” Oleg says quietly. - He is so strong that the wing can break a man's hand. With a wide chest he breaks the air currents so that the pack can follow him.

- A goose? - I ask, without taking my eyes off the sky. - There must be a goose.

- She, of course, is and always flies behind.

A man's hand wraps around my waist, and it turns out so unexpectedly that I shudder. We meet almost half a year, but he embraces me for the first time. From that first our meeting on the embankment, from our first meeting after. From the first dinner in the cafe.

My father was Georgian, although he lived all his life in Russia. And they brought me up in accordance with the traditions of the ancient Georgian family. Because even this innocent touch almost drives me into the paint. I feel uncomfortable, my cheeks are flashing, I'm trying to pull away. But a strange feeling rises from the inside. I have never experienced anything like this before: as if a small ember flare up in the very depths of my body.

From a barely glowing light, it turns into a small fire. It illuminates dark corners and warms the soul. I want to blow on it to ... so what? If you blow too much, it can go out, but I don’t want it at all. I like this strange feeling of someone else’s hand on my thigh, where strong fingers touch my skin. And even though there is a layer of nylon and fabric between my hot body and his hand, it seems to me that I am bare.

- you unpleasant? - Oleg asks.

“N-no,” I shake my head, “just ... frozen.

I'm lying. I'm not cold, I'm hot. And even hotter because it seems that he understood my innocent lie.

“I'll take you home,” Oleg suggests.

I feel like a stupid chicken when I follow him to the car. I involuntarily touch the place where his touch had just felt. How strange ... From my very youth my mother told me scary stories about insidious men that they only strove to deceive innocent girls. About the horrors of sex and the diseases that he brings with him. About rudeness and male cruelty, I heard plenty decently. And all this was bound to happen to me if I was not careful.

But, why am I not afraid now? Why, as a tied, ready to go for two emeralds that shine like stars?

- See you tomorrow, Ole.

Gallantly kisses my fingers goodbye, barely touching his lips, and ... everything. I take a look at the hawk profile and get out of the car.

- I will call, - says Oleg to the open window.

And I'm staying at the door to see off the black bumper of an SUV. Unclear sadness envelops my thoughts. It is not clear where the sorrow that has come from falls on the heart with a light veil. I raise my eyes to the sky, in the foolish hope of seeing there a goose cant, in which its goose rightly follows the most powerful gander.

“I love you, Oleg,” whisper falls from trembling lips and goes into emptiness.

In the white clouds, stately floating over me. In the piercing blue of the spring sky, in the bottomless depth of which fly schools of migratory birds.

And again, like last fall, the wind brushes away tears from my cheeks. Only the wind is not cold almost winter, but tender spring. He touches his face with a warm kiss, and it’s as if I hear a quiet promise to bring my words to whose eyes I see every night in my dreams.

But neither tomorrow nor three days later my cell phone doesn’t display cherished numbers on the screen. And near the institute is not worth a parked SUV. And our cafe, where we had dinner for the first time, is closed for renovation. And even in the blue sky can not hear bird calls.

The world ceased to exist in a flash. I kinda walk the streets, like breathing. Sometimes I even eat, but I don’t remember - and ...